This poem came from a writing prompt about nicknames from the NaPoWriMo blog. I didn't realize how much juice was still there... perhaps will always be there if I am honest.
That would be powerful, wouldn't it, if we were always this honest, lovingly honest?
My hurt from that name
Jiggles still in the excess
what Tony calls fluffyness
about my waist
I can feel myself
not wanting to remember
this, certainly not
wanting to write it
into form using
my beloved words
I stop writing
my voice disappears
just like that
in remembering
one unloving
nick name
rather
than the
countless
loving
nick
names
I
have
now
Why didn't she stop it?
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